


kinetic

by poetofthefall



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (of course), ...or is it?, Angst, D/s undertones, Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Hand & Finger Kink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pining, Self destructive behaviors, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, jim does weird shit sometimes, of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 02:42:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13448826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poetofthefall/pseuds/poetofthefall
Summary: Moriarty squints at him, and this time Sebastian actually does step back, raindrops running in icy trails down his back. He shudders, and Moriarty reaches out, lightning fast, to grab his wrist. Sebastian inhales sharply. "What-""Moran." Moriarty's gloved hand is warm against his pulse. He's speaking slowly, as though Sebastian is an idiot. "Look at your fingertips."(Or, in which Sebastian slowly, quietly develops a hand tremor, as well as an infatuation with his psychopathic boss. As if one death warrant wasn't bad enough.)





	kinetic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LysanderandHermia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysanderandHermia/gifts).



> After stockpiling years of unpublished mormor ficlets and RP logs, it occurred to me that I should probably... do something with them. Be the content creator you want to see in your fandom, am I right? (Yeah, that's probably how that quote goes.)

The gunmetal is cold against his skin. His fashionable leather gloves have no place here, too bulky and thick; he thinks they’ll ruin his aim, or get caught on the trigger, or his wrist will slip against the wet bricks. He hardly needs another thing to complicate this shot. It’s storming in London, thick sheets of rain pounding down against the pavement without any sign of stopping. An occasional boom of thunder interrupts the monotony of raindrops, powerful enough that he can feel it in his bones, even nine stories up on this godforsaken rooftop. 

“Fifteen minutes,” Moriarty had said like an afterthought, attention clearly fixed on some other pressing matter. Fifteen minutes until the target returned home, yet it had been over an hour now. He starts to wonder if something's happened, if the plan changed without him knowing- even a preoccupied Moriarty is rarely ever wrong, especially by such a large margin. Sebastian hesitates for a few more seconds before he turns from the scope to retrieve his phone. He fumbles clumsily for a few seconds before pulling it from the duffle. The screen is instantly covered in streaks of water, and there’s only one notification- a text message sent twenty minutes ago from a private number, reading 

Meeting at Bedaulieu’s by 6:30 at the latest. Don’t bother changing. x

Fuck. The clock on Sebastian’s phone is blinking a mocking 6:02 at him. He doesn’t /think/ Moriarty would do anything terrible to him for being late, but then, that might be him getting too comfortable. Never a good thing where the Boss is concerned, even if things with him have been borderline peaceful lately. Sebastian stifles a sigh and glances down his scope once last time, not really expecting to see anything other than the same scenery he's been staring at for ages, but there it is- the door to the apartment cracking open. He shoves the phone away in an instant and gets into position, heart jumping into his throat. A slow, deep breath fills his lungs with the scent of wet asphalt and ozone; his world narrows down to the space between him and the man on the other end of his scope. The rain pours down around him, slightly muted, and he makes a minute adjustment to account for the wind. The steady crosshair rests just to the left of the target’s forehead, even as he moves about, dropping his keys on a table next to the door, wrestling off a damp jacket. Sebastian waits, waits, waits, breathes out, takes the shot.

\---

He makes it with five minutes to spare, soaking wet and winded. His gear had been summarily dumped in the back of a nondescript old car, but with the roads packed full of commuters trying to escape the storm, his only option was to travel on foot. Moriarty is waiting for him outside the discreet French restaurant under an umbrella, which is... surprising to say the least. He knows how picky the other man can be when it comes to his attire, and although he's wearing a thick woolen overcoat, his shoes have to be getting soaked. 

Sebastian slows, pushes his hair off his forehead and into some semblance of tidiness. "Boss," he nods in greeting. Moriarty glances up from his phone and gives him an odd look, scanning him with an intensity that makes Sebastian want to shift uncomfortably. He forces himself to be still, returning the look with his own steady grey gaze. 

"What the hell happened to you, Moran?" He sounds genuinely curious, and that answers one question, at least.

"Your man didn't show until six." Sebastian replies simply. Now that he isn't in motion, he begins to become aware of how uncomfortable he is, the rain turning the exposed skin of his neck and face clammy. His eyes flicker to Moriarty's umbrella, and to his surprise, Moriarty steps closer, lifting it to accommodate him. Sebastian murmurs his thanks on reflex. He must really look like a drowned rat. 

"If you had told me, I would have just-- wait. You ran all the way here?" There's a note of incredulity in his voice, replacing its usual slow drawl. Sebastian looks down at him, slightly uncomfortable with the lack of distance between them. This close, he can make out the slight crow's feet around his eyes, the faint scent of some expensive smelling cologne. They've been living in the same flat for months now, but this is the closest he's ever been to his boss. 

Moriarty has uncommonly long eyelashes for a man.

Sebastian nearly jerks back at the trend of his thoughts, fights a grimace. "Of course. Wouldn't have made it in a car." He rumbles. Moriarty squints at him, and this time Sebastian actually does step back, raindrops running in icy trails down his back. He shudders, and Moriarty reaches out, lightning fast, to grab his wrist. Sebastian inhales sharply. "What-"

"Moran." Moriarty's gloved hand is warm against his pulse. He's speaking slowly, as though Sebastian is an idiot. "Look at your fingertips."

He does. 

They're swollen and red with the beginning stages of frostbite, and he belatedly realizes that he never put his gloves back on after packing up. For the first time, he notices the numbness in them, remembers how hard it had been to get a grip on his phone. Fuck. What a shithole day. Moriarty is still staring at him with a strange look on his face, grip on his wrist firm. Sebastian flexes his fingers and breathes out slowly. The last thing he needs is for M to think he's permanently damaged. "Sorry, Boss. I wasn't even thinking about... there's no nerve damage yet, I can just warm them once we're inside."

Silence stretches between them. Sebastian's keen ears pick up the occasional patter of hail among the heavy rainfall, cars passing by them, but Moriarty is unsettlingly quiet. "Uh, I... I'll be more careful next time." He tries, starting to get agitated, and finally the other man moves, nodding slowly. But Moriarty doesn't let go. Instead, his grip shifts to his palm, and he draws Sebastian's hand closer, closer, up to his face. Sebastian's heart flips, breath catching in his throat. "What are you-"

A warm mouth closes around his digits, and Sebastian feels the world screech to a halt. Moriarty's tongue brushes against the pads of his fingers once, twice, leaving a burning trail in its wake. He tries to respond somehow, but he's frozen, literally and figuratively, as the most dangerous man he's ever met sucks gently on his /fucking/ fingers, what the hell?

Sebastian draws in a deep breath. Goosebumps are rising on his arms and he can feel his fight or flight response kicking in, sending electricity racing down his legs. His icy skin starts to hurt in earnest, searing with white-hot pins as he regains feeling. His body is fighting to do /something/, react somehow, but for the first time in living memory, he can't move. He bears the pain stoically instead, keeping his hands as still as possible. Moriarty slides the digits out of his mouth after what feels like forever, only to replace them with his ring finger and pinky, raising his bowed head to stare Sebastian in the eye.

Horrifyingly, he realizes his face is red.

Again the other man's tongue touches the pads of his fingers, but this time it stays where it lands. Sebastian clears his throat, shoves his other hand into his pocket. He can see the corner of Jim- of Moriarty's lips quirking up into a smile. 

After an eternity, the shorter man releases his grip. Sebastian breaks eye contact to look down at his hand, and although it's still red, it's a paler shade, slightly less swollen. He clears his throat once, twice, trying to find center again. There's no possible way Moriarty isn't fucking with him, he knows that, but that doesn't change the fact that he's had sex less erotic. "I-"

At the sound of his voice, it's like a switch has been flipped. As quickly as it began, the moment ends, and the other man turns away from him, leather shoes splashing against the pavement as he walks towards the restaurant doors. "Come. We have places to be, Tiger." He sings, chipper as anything. Sebastian is left in the downpour to stare after him, angry and disoriented and slightly turned on. For a moment, he half-wonders if he's been hallucinating. But his left hand is coming alive with feeling, and there's a spring in Moriarty's step as he disappears into Bediaulieu's that only ever appears when he's feeling particularly self-satisfied.

How has this become his life? Sebastian forces his legs into motion, wiping saliva-slicked fingers on his rain-drenched trouser leg. In keeping with the apparent theme of the day, it does absolutely no good.


End file.
